Vines
by QueenAhems
Summary: In a world divided and torn, their love was quiet, heartfelt and perhaps legendary. AliceUncas
1. Chapter 1

A/N: After reading some very wonderful stories in LOTM I felt compelled to pen down some ideas I had of Alice and Uncas, because seriously, the ending left me bawling like a very helpless child. In any case, do enjoy and all comments are appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

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We do not question our strengths, only our weaknesses.

She was 12 when her father uttered those words, holding her delicate ankle in his calloused hands as she sat in a heap of torn skirts, bruised skin and watery eyes after tripping over a rock and tumbling down a slope when she wandered outdoors alone and unchecked.

She could have very well broken her neck, and her father had, in his worry and paranoia channelled it into the vast storage of anger he so easily fed and expelled, and turned his wrath upon her sister instead.

_"Were you not watching your sister, Cora? What were you thinking, girl? Of all the foolish things…!"_

"Oh, dear Alice," she could just imagine her mother say. "Were you out chasing the clouds again? Watching the birds that flock in numbers and the rabbits that visit our gardens? Your spirit yearns for the earth my love, but you should have been more careful."

_My strengths_, she would think. _My strengths lie in quietness and thought, and never in fire and thunderous songs._

Never like Cora.

But, pressed tight and rigid against her sister's waist as the screeching sound of metal met metal, of gun powder and deafening shots, her stillness had come in cracks, interspersed with sobs that came in unrelenting guttural heaves.

_My weakness_, Alice Munro had thought, watching the scene of gore and brutality tear the innocence of wealth and pampering as easily as it could like the thick curtains that framed their adored house back in England.

"I'll be brave, papa and more careful," she had sworn that Sunday afternoon after her unfortunate fall that left her with a bruised ankle and sore palms, remembering every nerve which cried out in pain as the family doctor examined and prodded the protesting ligament.

And now, years later, lying on moss-covered ground that smelt too much of death than life, that bravery had all but disappeared, and she was instead, aware of everything – of the uncomfortable stretch of her sister's skirt against her cheek, the strong fingers that clasped her back and the terrible glee that filled the Indians as they descended upon the unsuspecting soldiers. Her eyes remained open, shadowed in grim and horror at the carnage that lay just within her grasp.

_So close,_ she had thought, watching as if in slow motion as serrated blades plunged deep to sever both flesh and bone, magnifying her terror and causing her to slip into a dangerous trance that was perhaps her only defence mechanism.

_So close_, her thoughts chanted. _I am so close to death._

When it over, it was Cora who picked her from the ground, firm hands steadying her frame and Alice watched, as though floating in another body as her own legs straightened, loyally holding her frail weight. As the smoke lingered, she swallowed tears and cleared her hoarse throat, deaf to the turmoil that boiled between their 3 saviours and her sister's and Duncan's protectiveness.

But it was the Indian that made her jerk back to self-awareness, where her eyes were no longer glazed in memories of childhood past and her hands no longer shook in fear of another massacre.

It was he, of stoic features but gentle eyes, of skin the colour of warm dusted brown, of hair the colour of a black waterfall, of panther grace and ruthless precision, and of courage like steel and masculine power of tensile strength.

Alice had never seen, or felt such charisma or magnetism in a person. Back in England, her friends held neither charm nor appeal such as his, and she thought of her father, who resembled brimstone and ash, clouding and exploding in fearsome fury. And Duncan, Duncan was always confusing, for he held an affection that had at times appeared possessive, clouding his spirit and thoughts.

And so she stared, fascinated but shy, stealing glances at the Mohican when he wasn't looking as they trekked up rocks and hills to safety.

"I am Uncas," he had introduced politely, his voice deep and warm when he caught her staring at him again.

_Careless girl! _She had berated herself silently. _To stare in such an unbecoming manner at a man!_

"And I am Alice," she replied after a moment and gave her thanks for their aid in their timely rescue. She had meant to say more, until she almost fell when she very nearly tripped over a jutting rock, propelling her uneasy mind back to when she had chased the clouds and tumbled down a certain slope.

Terrified for her ankle and body that would soon meet gravel and stone, Alice had grabbed the first thing that was next to her, and her fingers curled tightly around his forearm as she came to jerky stops.

She felt warm skin and sinewy muscles – a lethal and seductive combination made perfect by years of warrior and hunter training. In a hold that was meant to break her fall, Alice had shuddered at their contact, her thoughts straying unbidden to that of a passionate lover's touch, stealing soft kisses under a crescent moon that would hang crookedly in the night, or of gentle caresses of silk-laced care that would have her whimpering in utmost delight...

Frightened and appalled at such a thought, Alice pulled away quickly, almost losing her balance again in the process. Cheeks burning and heart fluttering, she could barely look into his gaze without giving away her flustered emotions.

And still, he said nothing, his face showing neither irritation nor amusement but kindness and a dark swirling pool of emotion that spoke of something deeper and more complex that she had yet to understand.

She wondered if he felt that same touch, and thought the same thought as she did.

"Sorry," Alice blurted instead, feeling a blush sweep her cheeks at the way he was looking at her.

_They may be red men_, Alice thought as they resumed their arduous journey, _but they certainly are no barbarians!_ It was as if a veil had been lifted off her eyes, and Alice Munro was now seeing what others would not.

_We are all beings, beings that succumb to emotions, of love and of instinct – we are all of it,_ she thought.

And when the sun was high overhead and the forest was alive – singing with foliage, insects and birds, so too were her heart and spirit even in the midst of heat and sweat-covered skin. Because beyond the colours of green, brown and faded yellow, Alice could understand that life and nature were the essence of the world, still beautiful and revered despite any violence.

"Are you all right?" Cora's voice was a welcome intrusion to her thoughts, and Alice nodded warmly.

"I am, dear sister," she assured. "And yourself?"

"I too, am fine." Cora's reply was ready and immediate – too immediate, and Alice was neither blind nor deaf to the tension that was creeping up her sister's spine.

Instead, she reached out a hand, and felt the familiar fingers of her sister's twine against her own, and together they formed a firm clasp, a symbol of strength and love as they pushed each other forward just a little more towards their final destination.

"What are you thinking?" Cora asked softly, her eyes downcast on the leaf-covered earth as their skirts ruffled against each other.

_Of the courage I lack, and him, who stares at me with unflinching eyes, _she wanted to say. But she could not, for in the recesses of her mind, she was still groping for comprehension, of the self-awareness she lacked, and of the fear that dripped and pooled deep within her belly whenever Uncas wasn't in line of sight.

"Of warm baths and deep sleep," Alice replied instead, and forced a tiny smile, if only for her sister's assurance.

"And of our father, I hope," Cora said, returning the smile.

Her gaze slipped only for a moment to his figure that stood just outside the perimeter of the group, musket at the ready and eyes as dark as the earth.

She sighed, though not of tiredness.

"Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and thanks 'really' for pointing out to me about the anonymous reviewing being turned off. I've rectified that feature. Also, yes, this story will be a multi-chaptered one. I pretty much plunged into writing the story in extreme excitement and will now have to sit down and think of how my next chapter will turn out. Also, some parts of the conversations were taken from the actual LOTM script. Have a good day you all. :)

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He was snatching pieces of their conversations, his mind not allowing itself to rest from the yet unseen and demanding journey ahead of them.

"Duncan, you are absolutely gallant. If Cora doesn't marry you, I shall."

"Alice!"

Heyward laughed, and Uncas had to smile at the elder Munro's horrified protest, knowing somehow that Alice Munro had as much wit and fire as her sister did should she wish to show it.

"I can't wait to see papa," she had continued after awhile, sounding slightly out of breath as Heyward gave her an arm of assistance as they climbed up a steep forested slope.

"And you, Duncan? What are you looking forward to?" Cora was asking.

"Posting to a different continent."

It was the first time he heard her laughter then – light and magical, a true lady's laugh right in the middle of a thrumming forest, with his heart and breaths quickening at such a delightful sound.

And he wanted to hear more of it.

Uncas watched then, as annoyance rippled through Cora Munro, and she regarded both her sister and Duncan with a decidedly sombre face.

"I think it's very important and exciting," she replied before marching closer to Nathaniel.

The conversation dwindled after that, with Heyward making the most of the idle chatter, inducing soft but growing annoyed responses of Alice.

_A man who certainly cannot appreciate the silence_, Uncas decided of the dishevelled redcoat, a polar opposite of the soft-spoken lady who in the end, obviously preferred solitude than redundant talk.

Up ahead, Uncas' attention was taken over by his brother, who was beckoning to him.

"What do you think?" Heyward's voice now swam into his ears, and Uncas blinked, not realising that he was being spoken to. Beside the solider, the youngest Munro was now gazing at him in silent but open curiosity – a look that Uncas realised was anticipation not in answer to Heyward's question, but rather, to the path he would next lead them on.

Her eyes, mirrors to a yet untainted soul said it all, the young face which begged for worldly knowledge and safe-keeping, and beyond the veil of his stoic countenance but powerful emotions, Uncas was entranced, lost in a frightening bottle of innocence where an iron hand was curling in malice around them, slowly crushing their glass cage to pieces.

And now, she was still staring, and he found it hard to believe that it was those same soulful eyes that stared back at him not too long ago in fright and despair.

_What would you have me say? _Uncas thought, not breaking his gaze from hers.

"Well?" Heyward now demanded, and Uncas lifted carefully silted eyes that conveyed his absolute disinterest.

"I think you talk too much," he answered as he walked past them, hearing the barely restrained squawks of a high-ranking soldier obviously not used to being insulted or called upon.

Beside Heyward, Alice Munro had turned her head to the side, trying valiantly to conceal a smile that was threatening to bloom across her pretty face as she looked upon the vast forested land in front of her.

And it was only when his back was fully turned towards the British soldier did Uncas allow a slow and satisfied smile to stretch across his face.

----

It wasn't her dream that woke her, but the nearby quiet clicking of a musket.

She had blinked, wriggling slightly from where she was asleep just moments earlier, her heart starting its uneasy rhythm once more. From a father who stood proud and accomplished as a soldier, to Duncan, also a soldier who harboured equal pride and noble strength, Alice Munro had learnt and heard enough to recognise when a gun was being set into place and a target was to meet its bloody end.

"Cora?" she whispered, her arm reaching out and seeking her sister's comforting hand.

But Cora was not there.

And that was when she felt it – where the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, the air chilling her spine and freezing her blood in knowing, just knowing of the danger that was lying so very near of them, its presence tasting sour and portentous.

She rolled onto her belly, shaky elbows digging deep into the moist earth and inched perilously upwards where the wild blades of grass served as their last form of cover.

There she found her sister, crouched beside Hawkeye, two dark heads turned towards their seemingly impending doom, guns clutched firmly in their hands.

_The brave one,_ Alice thought. There were no sides to choose when it came to bravery, for when it came to stout hearts and passion-filled actions, it was Cora Munro who earned the affections of most men.

"I do not resent you," Alice had told her sister once, for who could begrudge a personality – an instinct that was inborn in a person from its stages of infancy? "But I would like to be more like you."

Alice blinked as a heavily painted face, streaked menacingly in angry colours gleamed sinisterly in the distance, its bulky form an eerie sight under pale moonlight. And she realised that her scream, which she so valiantly swallowed had now transformed into gasps which could very well spell the end for them all.

----

"I am sorry I left your side," Cora whispered not long after their threat retreated back into the shadows and she returned from Hawkeye's side, placing a warm hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Alice, what's wrong?" she asked, noticing her sister's wetly shining eyes under gleam and rustling leaves.

"Nothing," Alice said softly and smiled. "I was dreaming, before I woke."

"What did you dream?" Cora sounded genuinely curious.

"Hercules," she whispered, and Cora smiled.

"Papa always did love that cat."

"Do you remember when I first brought him home? Papa was furious."

"It was probably because of your sodden state that he was worried about," Cora interjected, laughter crinkling the edges of her eyes as she folded an arm under her head and they remembered lovelier times back in England.

----

She was 13 when she brought home a kitten from her wayward stroll, the both of them wet and shivering from the winter rains.

Her father was none too pleased to see a drenched animal held in the arms of an even more drenched girl, the two sodden beings dripping water in a most unceremonious manner on the expensive carpeting.

But then Cora came into the picture, and together the Munro sisters had launched into persistent bouts of pleading towards their father who was determined to be unrelenting in keeping another pet in their household.

"Please papa, let us keep him!" Cora implored.

"We'll take good care of him!" Alice chimed.

"And just how responsible do you think you both will be?" Colonel Munro had questioned from where he sat, arms folded and polished boots crossed at the ankles.

"Extremely, papa!" Alice assured.

Then there was a small mew, and all three heads had swivelled to the door where a white feline was making its entrance. Alice had watched, remembering her father's gaze turn from skeptical to tender, and then to fondness as the kitten rubbed its tiny head against his boots, as if pleading in supreme supplication to be loved and cared for...

"I'll never forgive him for scratching my dress, though," Alice now said in an afterthought, only to be met by silence, and smiled fondly at the sleeping face of her sister.

_She worries too much for me_, Alice thought under shame-filled lids, knowing that her feeble state had cost precious extra strain and anxiety on Cora's part.

"Goodnight dear sister," she whispered, remembering now not of Hercules but of a certain Indian warrior whose imprint had seared itself into her soul, where his earlier saving grab – lightning fast and instinctual, had opened a new dimension of womanly wonder and desire, knowing that it was altogether foreign and perhaps wrong, but not uninvited.

Uncas, as her mind kept drawing back to, who lay sleeping just a short distance away, a shining pride of his father and father's fathers before that. Uncas, a man of his own self – fearless and loyal as a brother, obedient and devoted as a son.

Uncas, who laid on his back, lithe body stretched out and eyes hooded, hearing every word the youngest Munro had told her sister, and remembering every touch that churned deep within his core.


End file.
